


Interpellations

by TannicFlesh



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dom/sub, Extended/Story, Gay, Gay Sex, High School, Light Angst, M/M, Magical Realism, Mildly Dubious Consent, Piss, Shounen-ai, Slice of Life, Watersports
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 11:46:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18850444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TannicFlesh/pseuds/TannicFlesh
Summary: A pretty mildly kinky story with some BL Shounen-Ai type trappings butt not quite as silly, or silly in a different way?. A young normal human being who's got some kinky gay ideas ends on his knees in front of a guy he never really paid attention to and things get weird and wonderfully complicated.Not much fantasy - just story driven porn.





	Interpellations

 

Interpellations

(A kinky 初年愛fic)

 

Warning: ambiguous consent. Gay stuff. Angst. Legal age of consent in Georgia is 16 if that matters.

 

Author’s note: for those who know my work, this one is not fantasy or fanfic, just normal kinky gay shit. I’m taking my character driven porn to boy’s love. If that interests you, cool, it’s just a story I wanted to write. - TannicFlesh

  


  1. **Prelude**



 

Jason leaned against the low brick wall outside the main building with his teammates Bryce and D’aquon, who everyone called Deek. Bryce wasn’t the type to warrant a nickname. It was early in the first semester of their junior year, and it was still really hot outside in Atlanta. Jason was tall at 6’3, but they were taller and got more playing time, but that didn’t really bother him. Right now he was bothered by the question their trig teacher had left them with. Math was intuitive to him, but the logic of the problem eluded him, and he frowned to himself, _I'll have to write this one out._

Deek’s voice brought him back, “Hey man, whatcha looking like that for?”

Jason looked up and realized he’d been frowning.

“His churchy girlfriend won’t give him pussy,” Bryce said, guffawing at his own idea of his wit.

“Why’d you go after one of the good girls, man?” Deek said with mock exasperation. _She asked me out._ And then told him she didn’t put out, but whatever, she was low pressure.

“Yeah, Gay Jay, why?” Bryce stifled a grin.

 _You’re such a useless waste of space, Bryce._ He’d been the one who coined that name to tease him, based solely on the fact that it rhymed. It always pissed Jason off, got under his skin, it was so fucking stupid - but he learned after that first time to keep it cool, stifled. So he just gave Bryce his even, indifferent stare, he’d long ago perfected the look before mastering the mindset. 

“Unlike your girlfriend, who’s the drip, right?” Jason smirked to himself as Bryce smiled at the _trending_ term. Jason never used it because he thought it was stupid sounding and because…

“Fuck yeah man, she’s hot!” Bryce said enthusiastically. Jason’s ride showed up, a guy who lived past his neighborhood and so they carpooled as the school required it. Jason leaned up off the wall, “you know the drip is gonorrhea, right?” He walked away fuming inside but taking some measure of victory in Bryce’s confused face and Deek’s stifled laughter.

“What’s gonorrhea?” He knew the asshole would have his phone out, he couldn’t find his way to the bathroom without it. “How do you spell…?”

“Sup?” Jason slid into his seat. Closing the door, he looked at Bryce with a seething  hatred whose intensity  surprised him. Bryce looked up as they drove away, shouting something angrily. _Fuck you, dipshit._

 

  1. **Meet-Cute, Suck Cock**



 

We were just boys. 

He wasn’t someone I knew then, not well. He lived kind of nearby and our houses backed onto the same trail - he a was nice looking but kind of quiet guy, so in that sense he wasn’t the classical “hot guy” of the great American subconscious and its fascination with white men. We’ll get to him.

I was the kind of guy people called “funny” or “nice,” compliments you say about people who are uninteresting because they are largely inoffensive to you, and fail to stand out for any other reason. I was kind of nerdy, I liked movies and anime, I was practicing Japanese on an app. But I wasn’t completely nerdy, and I made jokes that were witty, I was told. I wasn’t  a great student because even though I’m smart I was unmotivated by the work, though I did really well in English, maybe because my dad's an English professor I just kind of absorbed the skills. History was alright too.

So not super nerdy but pretty nerdy, not a stellar student, maybe on looks I stood out? Nope! I was always ambivalent about my own looks, I decided I might be cute in someone’s book but no one had ever asked me out so I took that as an answer: _not that cute._ I have nice eyes, round and rich brown, hopelessly expressive (I’m a shit liar, thanks eyes!). My nose wasn’t narrow enough to be a good feature, my lips were too wide, I had a good chin. Sporadic acne, sometimes bad, made me want to stay home half the days I had to go to school. Oh, and my hair, let me tell you about my light brown hair! It’s boring, my dad's hair, my mom calls it “fine hair,” I call it flat, shapeless hair to which the application of styling  products produces a billboard that says “product has been applied here!” in giant neon letters. So I just let it hang down normally, just a little past my ears in the back.

Slamming body though, right? Well, at five foot eleven inches, I wasn’t really tall, and I wasn’t fat, I wasn’t skinny, I wasn’t toned, I wasn’t athletic. I was pretty pale but could tan with some work, and I had a mole on my chest the size of my pinky fingernail but I thought might as well have been a third, multilateral limb. [ _Pause for audience to exit as they realize their narrator is hopelessly uninteresting and norma_ l].

I tried not to stand out, because I didn’t want anyone to look at me, afraid they’d see how uncomfortable I was in this world. How queer I felt. I’d figured out I was gay in sophomore year, looking at this friend of a friend in French class, realizing I didn’t just think he seemed cool, but that I wanted to touch him, be near him. Granted, I might have taken the hint from the fact that I’d been looking at hardcore gay porn for a while, with a flavor of the dominance and submission stuff. Somehow, I was able for a long time to write it off as just getting off on something taboo, and I could jerk off to straight porn that was hardcore like that too.

So it wasn’t just that I was gay, but that I had these really offbeat desires, stuff kids our age only whispered about and pretended to have no real knowledge of. Most days I felt pretty bad, like I had this monster inside which would horrify and shock the world if it were to rear its head. That was when the normal world around me started to look distorted, a universe bent towards a different reality than my own.

The closet is not a safe space. Eventually, my parents found some websites (I later learned to clear the cache, _sigh_ ) and kind of brought me out a little bit. They were pretty awesome, they just said they loved me, didn’t say anything about what I’d looked at, didn’t push the issue - they could see I was kind of messed up about it. At least at home I was OK, and they even asked about crushes and stuff like that, which made me feel a little more normal, but not much. 

Then one day mid sophomore year  someone I lent my phone too found pictures. I knew better than to leave them in an unlocked pictures folder, but it was too late. That was when the rumors started blowing up on social media.

It’s hard to write about, but it was a really dark time - I was horrified, thinking of people knowing what I looked at in my most private moments...it was a really dark time. I didn't go to school for days, and my dad stayed home basically on suicide watch. 

Eventually, my parents convinced me to go back, but I stayed out until the weekend. When I came back on Monday my friends were mostly cool, acting like nothing ever happened. But I still felt out of place everywhere, knowing others were looking at me and judging. Some of it was in my head, but there was also sniggering, words when I walked by, the odd, disembodied “fag” was dropped and met with quiet laughing. I went to therapy, it helped some, but I really started feeling like I was cut off. It was a normal world I’d been a part of but was cast out from, and on returning it all looked a little off. It’d felt that way for while, but after the rumors that weirdness was dangerous, frightening. My grades weren’t awesome, I was pretty much caught up in this weird limbo, and the everyday fare of high school education seemed pretty distant from the world I lived in.

 By junior year, the rumors had lost steam, other gossipy crap drew the collective consciousness, and I  moved quietly, careful not to stir the waters. Happy? No.

 

***

 

That particular Monday it was early on in the Fall, and in Atlanta it was still in the high 80s every afternoon. Our school mandated we carpool (Atlanta’s a car town), and I rode with this guy named Dave and another girl, Jenny who became my closest friend that year. She was a short, round faced redhead with short hair who dressed elegantly but with a slight bohemian flair. She was a confident young woman mature beyond her years, serious about school but not too serious not to cut class and make fun of normal human beings. That’s how we started to become friends.  She lived closest to school and just with her dad, an artist, and sometimes the shit that came out of her mouth was unbelievable. In short, she was straight but weird enough that we laughed at the normal world together. She helped make me feel okay with who I was, made it fun sometimes. 

I lived the furthest away in the carpool, and usually would just walk home from Dave’s house. There was a long trail that ran along a creek embankment in a pretty, wooded area, and a number of subdivisions backed up to this creek -his and mine did, and he was about a ten minute walk from my house.

I liked that walk, and so usually deferred the occasional offer from Dave to take me home and drive back. If you’ve never been to the Atlanta area, it’s greener than any city you’ve seen, and outside the dense zones lots of housing developments are tucked into towering stands of poplar and oak trees. In neighborhoods like ours, houses backed onto heavily wooded stretches. With the creek running along the trail it was a peaceful walk, and shaded in summer.

It had been a happily uneventful Monday, I’d made Drew laugh (he was the guy that made me realize I was gay) which had made me happy - and yes, I was about as pathetic as that sounds. Our yard had a wooden fence set maybe 15 feet off the trail, high bushes and an old oak to the left sided the gate. The tree and the bushes make a kind alcove mostly hidden from the trail, and since I was feeling pretty nice I stopped before going in, dropping my bag and putting some heady rhythmic music on my phone. Son Lux on Monday. I sat down with my back to the fence and brought my knees up, and just watched the trees sway seemingly to rhythm of the music pretending it was the sky moving not the trees, and made up scenarios where Drew, my crush, found out I liked him, and my passion turned him from his wayward straightness.

I’d often sit there, maybe a little more hidden than I was that day, and make up things about the people walking by. Two days past, for example, it was very clear that a chatty young couple were undercover agents posing _as_ a chatty young couple. After all, their clothes had been immaculate, they were a little too well groomed, too normal, but they were probably pursuing a string of grisly murders that occurred along this trail over the past twenty years. (To be clear there were no such murders, so obviously the police had kept it all hush-hush, or perhaps my mind wanders…). 

When I wasn’t making up stories about random trail pedestrians, I would often think about Drew. I knew he wasn’t gay, but he was really good looking, and I’d _a bit_ of an infatuation. It was easier to make up stories where everything worked out with him than live in reality, and so I tried to make the stories  just barely believable enough so I could continue pining and not have to disturb the waters of the universe.

That afternoon I was just getting to where he nervously admitted his feelings, when _he_ showed up. Not Drew, obviously, but that guy. I kind of recognized him, black stylish hair, tall slim figure but with strong shoulders. _What’s his name? It starts with a J… oh no, I think his friends call him Jay. That’s it._ I didn’t really know him, but he had always stood out for being very cool, like nothing perturbed him too much. _Must be nice._ He seemed upset now, that’s why I noticed - he was walking towards my little hideaway from the direction I think his house was in. I’d seen him running the trail once or twice so I guessed he lived relatively close.

His face looked really pissed off as he neared, and it looked even like he had been...crying? Then he stopped and just stared unseeing down the trail. He wasn’t the type of good looking that immediately convinced you he’s attractive, but the kind the begs you to consider his features and just what is that makes them pleasant to look at. And so I did look at him, study his face until he hung his head, and I had to stifle a surprised yelp when he furiously punched the tree he stood near.

 _Ow._ Skin and tree bark. _What the hell's got_ him _this upset?_ Then, naturally, I made up my story, which was that his girlfriend had dumped him, telling him tearfully that his shoulders were too broad for her. In a past life, she’d been abused by a slender man with slightly broad shoulders, and it was traumatic for— 

He looked up, right at me. _Is he crying?_

There was a look of surprise, he quickly turned away and I stood up then hoping to just walk in the gate and leave him alone. But as I moved to go he looked at me and said something. Of course, I had my earphones in and regretfully had to take them out. _Why are you ruining my afternoon?_ All I actually said was “what?” 

I remembered then his full name was Jason. He still looked angry. _“_ What are you looking at?”

I almost laughed, and couldn’t help myself, _“Seriously?_ Who _says_ that?” _What are you from an RL Stine novel?_

Apparently he didn’t get it. He stalked towards me, long legs carrying his tall frame towards me with surprising quickness - I regretted my witty comeback in an instant. He shook with undirected anger and I stepped back, startled, dropping my phone in the dirt. Jason towered over my respectable 5’11 height, menacing and infuriatingly attractive up close - wavy black hair that always looked cool, slightly sunken penetrating blue eyes not too close together, a narrow nose and strong chin.  I was both afraid and embarrassed, like he might know his nearness made me blush.

“What’s your problem?” I leaned back away, a bit deeper into the alcove. _I didn’t realize you were such an asshole._ He glared like an enraged blind beast, and my mouth kept moving, “I just...didn’t think normal human beings talked like that” _shut up Em,_ “but you’re really more of a Ken doll than— _oof_!”

I’d never been punched before that, but his fist curled up into my stomach and suddenly I couldn’t breath and needed to retch at the same time.

“Faggot” He spat as my knees buckled. _Oh, good, that._

“What the _fuck_?” I was wheezing, so it didn’t sound exactly powerful.

“ _Ken doll?”_ The angry creature raged.

I coughed wetly, trying to find my voice so I could reach the cliff I was careening towards a little quicker, “plastic... _cough..._ and lacking manhood. But you’re right, Ken’s a blond and you’re AGH!”he grabbed me roughly by the hair, it hurt a lot as he pulled my head back to stare down at me. For some reason I though, _wow his arms are long!_ I must have a very stunted fight or flight response, though by now I was panicking a little. I didn’t know Jason well, though we lived in the same area and went to the same school - but he’d usually seemed pretty decent. He hung out with the bros, but wasn’t super bro-y, at least I’d thought.

“Like playing with dolls, faggot?”his face was so angry, I couldn’t understand what was happening, but panic was sliding into anger of my own. _Why are people like this?!_ When I look back on it, I wonder if he did what he did because I made that stupid Ken doll retort - it was an in-joke with Jenny, and would never have diffused the situation. What I mean is, I was used to people bullying me who were angry just that I existed. But ever since sophomore year that stuff had died down except from a select few assholes. But I don’t think he was really mad at me that way, though it probably seems like it - I knew what that was like, I’d seen that kind of hate (not a lot, happily), and this was something different. I was just, there, and it was a bad day I guess - and said something that redirected a nameless rage in my direction, splitting our little universe off on the strange course it took. 

My hair was really hurting. “Oh fuck _off_ ” I grabbed his wrist where he gripped my hair, but he was stronger than me, and I’m not exactly a judo expert. He pulled my head towards his basketball shorts, and I redoubled my struggles, grabbing his leg and pushing away though I really wasn’t strong enough - I was always too bored with exercise to bother even though I never really liked my body. “What the fuck?” I strained as I pushed back against him. _What is he so angry about? What is he doing?!_

I couldn’t hold my own against his furious grip, and then he had my face pressed into his crotch.  “Lacking manhood, huh? How’s this? Isn’t this what _you_ like?” His voice was cruel, and the word ‘you’ was issued in such a tone I knew it meant _my kind._ This is going to sound awful, and I can’t explain why, but even in this confusing bizarre confrontation with a boy I hardly knew...I kinda liked it. What I mean is, I could feel his package resting on my face, and I should have been humiliated and mad - and I was – but I can’t deny some sliver of me felt his balls hanging down and the heft of his soft dick and was...kind of into it. I don’t mean the whole _situation_ , but if he was asking me then “do you like the D?” I would have had to respond in the affirmative - and his D was definitely right there on my face. And I’d jerked off to a lot of porn where guys were ‘forced’ to suck dick... 

I think, if anything in the next few seconds had been a _tiny_ bit different, none of this would have happened, this story would end here. Like when physicists say there’s an “infinite number of universes” I think about these few seconds in time, how in our mutual decisions a whole universe burst to life in that very moment.

I was able to brace against his his thighs, they weren’t thick but felt muscular beneath my sweaty palms, and shoved out of his grip - looking at him angrily,“ _Yeah_. That’s what I like” I spat back at him, my eyes carried a torrent of angry thoughts: _fuck you fuck them who cares if I want it or anything no one pays attention to me anyway!_ Except my voice wasn’t _quite_ as sarcastic as I meant to sound, not _quite_ as defiantly strong...maybe I sounded bitterly ironic - or maybe I sounded like “Yeah, sure do! Love the D! Why do you ask, kind sir?” I don’t know.

But his face changed with those words. I sat there in front of him, fallen to my knees with my legs collapsed below me, and the angry, pretty young man became completely different. Footnote, in text, so I guess this is really not a footnote so much as a note: he’s beautiful when he’s angry. But that anger fell away, the hunch of his shoulders relaxed, and he stood, tall - looking at me with the most curious expression.

“Suck my dick, then.” His voice was cool and even as he stepped forward, pulling down the front of his basketball shorts, thrusting his package right towards my face. You might not be surprised by this based on the way this story is tagged, but I was _not_ expecting this at _all._ Here he’d come up to me, after crying, I think, and acted all bro-y, punched me, called me a faggot - then looks at me completely differently, like I’m a magical talking starfish, before thrusting his exposed crotch in my face. _I was not_ prepared f _or this._ What’s the life lesson? How the fuck do I know? What I do know is I _stared_ at that cock, _stared -_ I couldn’t look away, up to then I’d only seen mine up close, which is fine and all, but this was a _pretty_ _dick_.

As an aside, let me inform you here that I am, in fact, gay, and though up until that moment I’d hardly seen another man’s penis, I loved dick. I remember hearing some of the “popular” girls giggling that dudes’ junk was gross - not like someone’s in particular, but dicks in general. I thought _sucks for your boyfriends, I love dicks._ Plural, as in many and all kinds - I cannot tell you vast array of pornography I’d absorbed up until that day, but I had a locked picture app on my phone for porn, with a folder of just dicks, and sometimes that was enough to come - thinking of how they’d feel…

And here was one inches from my face in all its languid beauty, and I was a little broken by this. I’d convinced myself at that point I was likely to die alone, and here was a lovely man basically forcing his cock on me. Well, he _was_ forcing it on me...and _that’s_ really the thing - I do love penises - but it was his suddenly cool, forceful _attitude_ that was setting off sparklers in my brain and balls. Suddenly he’d stopped being mean and angry, and he was...cool and in control, the _agent_ , but then he seemed different again...there was something shifting... 

 _He was unsure_.

Re-cap:  A moment ago he’d been blindly attacking, but now before me - shorts withdrawn from his lovely manhood - was the agent, making a risky bet with government money. Yet, I guess he was just in the  field for training and overstepped his authority, because I saw the little pang of fear as he considered the downside of his gamble after he’d already made it: I could call the cops, my parents, the pastor (but fuck that guy), the _school_ , _his_ _coach._ He swallowed, then let go of my hair, and his mouth was working to say something about...I don’t know what, because _that_ was the moment I lifted my right hand from the dirt, and took his softening cock in my fingers, and making the most angry, recalcitrant eyes at him I could, I placed my lips on it.

I don’t know why I did what I did, I don’t know if I _actually_ thought he would hit me or hurt me if I didn’t do what he had said. And I really was angry, _furious_. Angry he had hit me, angry that he like everyone else presumed to know _what I was_ and what I wanted. I was angry at my own desires, pissed  off that as humiliated and infuriated as I was, I was also turned on on some level. And yet  there was something… something in that change in his eyes that was demeaning and encouraging at the same time, something that enthralled and pulled me forward. Everyone talks about love at first sight, so maybe whatever the fuck this was also happens at first sight.

And so tentatively, I pressed his head to my lips. There is so much that went on here other than dick, but allow me describe this one to you. The shaft was smooth almond colored flesh with a pronounced raphe (that tube at the bottom, yes I looked it up, I said I love dick.) running along the base of the shaft to its perfect pink mushroom cap head ( _perfect_ not because it looked literally like a mushroom, but because I love that particular dick. Fuck off).  The skin there at the head is so wonderfully soft, tender in a way no other flesh on the body is, as I took it between my lips he began to swell. His shaft was big, bigger than mine, it thickened out behind the head and narrowed a little where it met his pubic hair above his low-hanging balls.  It was kind of like a zucchini squash you see in the super market but bigger, and happily it wasn’t green. Maybe a zucchini is a terrible analogy, maybe I should just avoid fruit and vegetables altogether. _[Everyone, Altogether:_ “You should avoid fruit and vegetables!”] . The thing is, I still love that feeling, the taste  of the soft, exposed flesh of the head ( _glans_ for those of you keeping up) - but I know too that with the touch of my lips I can bring something so simple and powerful.

 

Pleasure.

 

I suppressed a random impulse to laugh when I saw the blank expression of surprise on his face, his mouth hung open as though he’d just watched the opening to _2001: A Space Odyssey_ for the first time. As for me, panic wouldn’t set in until later, and instead a serenity came over me that I cannot explain. This was when a hundred little rips in myself began to form, and the first thing torn apart was the me that hated him for hitting me, for calling me names.  But there also was a rip between the _me_ that knew this kind of thing was not what nice, normal people did (even in bed), and the _me_ that watched hardcore porn and fantasized about having another man’s cock in my mouth (for starters). I was seventeen, and every time I came (hint: often) I felt ashamed of wanting such a thing, none of the _good_ people in movies or stories I read sucked cock (much less did butt stuff). But I knew as I jerked off which person in that video I wanted to be, I wanted someone else in me, to _fuck me_ , to...

And there I was, his cock in hand, and the fear and embarrassment didn’t go away so much as it was quieted by that renewed calmness in his blue eyes. It pulled me in, drew my lips forward. I sucked, gently, as the head throbbed between my lips, and as he held my eyes in his I flicked my tongue along the ridge (median sulcus, keep up) that ran beneath the bottom of his cock head. _That_ was the moment everything began, really, those few seconds culminated with me lapping my tongue just a little along the tight thread of flesh on the underside of his cockhead. 

Feeling me tease him with my tongue he gasped, but the last of the shock drained from his eyes, they hardened and his mouth curved into a ghost of a handsome smirk. I’m surprised I didn’t just come in my jeans right there, because he looked so _unbelievably_ hot standing over me, on my knees. _What am I doing?_

“Yeah” was all he said, his voice still wavered a little, airy but firm, I understood it was a command. Or maybe that’s how I heard it - _yeah, go on._ I’d never sucked a cock before, I just tried to think of what felt good on me when I masturbated, and push at those places with my mouth. So I tightened my lips just past his cock head, and just played my tongue around his cock as much as I could. I didn’t realize it but I started to move my head back and forth - his eyes were so magnetic mine were constantly drawn to them, between that and the feeling of his cock starting to fill my mouth my ability to clearly reflect was long gone.

The flesh on the shaft is different -  soft, but stretched tight over quaking veins steeped in an admixture of piss, sweat, and cum. It was the first time I’d really gotten to feel that on my tongue, taste the strange pungent mix as his musky aroma pervaded my breath. I think I lost control a little - I loved it feeling wet and slick between my lips, the simply physical sensations were exciting me.  I bobbed my head on his shaft but I started to put my back into it, shifting position to get more into my mouth. I wasn’t perfect, I felt it graze my back molars and used my tongue to adjust, directing his cock head to the back of my throat. So intensely I just wanted to _feel it_ , and I pressed every part of my mouth I could to his turgid flesh to try and stimulate him.  

“Fuck...yeah” he didn’t say it so much as breathe it, and I realized then I’d been so focused on sucking cock I’d forgot he was attached to it- which given his beauty (I’m biased here) is astonishing. He was kind of hunched over, eyes half closed with his mouth very slightly open - I’d never sucked dick or had mine sucked, so I’d no idea what he was feeling but he looked high. Maybe it was like what that half-assed speaker at our school called “synergy” (I thought they were selling soda for a good 30 minutes of that assembly): his pleasure just fed my own arousal at feeling him throbbing in my mouth, and that made me want to just make him feel more, better.

This was the first of many learning experiences. As his girth swelled in my mouth, I felt my back teeth brush his cock again, and I heard a little _hisssss_ noise. I relaxed my tongue right then, letting the heft of his shaft lower and avoid the unwanted contact. Imagine being mindless with lust and still thinking _this is hard,_ and then laughing a little at the layers of what you just thought. They’d called me cocksucker but in reality this was a skill I learned on the job. I was finding new ways of pressing my lips to guide his shaft as I took it in and out of my mouth, but there was no doubt I loved this feeling. If I’d thought these fantasies were just that, that delusion was vanquished.

I placed my hands on his hips, tentatively at first, but he surprisingly didn’t care, and I slipped into a rhythm. I let the tender rigid skin slide out, playing my tongue along the bottom until the head just hit my lips, sucking with my throat I’d glide back down, sometimes getting a little moan. I wasn’t thinking much, I should have been, and would make up for it later, but I was just concentrating on his cock in my mouth, loving every inch of it. 

“Ahhhh yeah, faster...ah...fuck yeah…” his breathing was quickening and he was humping his hips a little unconsciously. And so I did what he said, bobbing my head more quickly and sucking a bit more urgently as I felt him hold the back of my head. And then he was coming. I’d seen porn and even read stories (I mean, who does that, right?) where they’re like “ohhhh cum tastes so gooood! I luuuurv it!” I don’t particularly love the taste of it, it was surprisingly bitter, aggressive salty, I gagged a little but heard him say “ah! swallow it.” And for reasons unknown to me then I did, and while it’s flavor was not on my top ten list, the feeling of being there on my knees swallowing his cum was incredible. His hands held my head as he came, bucking a little, and I swallowed again as his cock twitched and throbbed in my mouth, the tube along the bottom (raphe - I love that word) pumping eagerly.

Eventually, he dropped his hands, and stood up straight, breathing hard with his eyes closed. I fell back on my ass, wiping at my lips with the back of my arm as a new panic set in. _What the fuck did I just do?!_  Thanks mind, where the fuck were you this whole time?! 

“Wow.” He said it in the most “non-wow” Keanu Reeves voice I’d ever heard but I think he meant it, because he said then, “hot”. _Thanks Keanu._ I was terrified and miserable, I’d just sucked a guy’s dick, a guy _from school_ , and he was straight and would destroy my life because that’s what horrible high school students do.

He smiled as if to say “that was neat” as he stuffed his cock back in his shorts, then he gave a little huff of laugh, “see you tomorrow” and walked off, leaving me there behind the tree and the bushes, the taste of  his cum still on my tongue.

We were just boys, bewildered and bewildering.

 

***

 

It’s hard to explain the weird mix emotions I felt then, just as it’s hard to explain what we’d just done. I’m not sure either of us really knew. But despite the powerful arousal that had driven me in that coupling, called out by that strange dynamic with _him_ , that awful feeling of doing something deeply wrong flooded over me.

 Embarrassed doesn’t really get at it. _Mortified_ is a better word, it captures things embarrassment does not. Embarrassment means a more or less mild social discomfort, but mortified is deeper, it shakes one to their core. _Mort_ , the French word for death, is right there up front. I wanted to die, I was so horrified at what I’d done.

 That night and whole following day were the most miserable of my whole life, and at one point I seriously thought about suicide. _Yes_ , again. Fuck off. I _knew_ he’d go tell his buddies, anyone that would listen, that I sucked his cock. In sophomore year that’s exactly what happened, why would this be different? And everyone would believe _him_ , those old rumors still had life, and he’d renew it. But it wasn’t just that I was _gay_ , they’d say I _sucked cock._ And I really _had done_ this thing, and some powerful part of me felt it was dirty, wrong. I wasn’t a prude, but no one talked about blow jobs as anything but lascivious. It was something _other_ people did.

 For a long time I just lay on my bed, imagining everyone imagining me doing that act, not seeing me for who I was but just this one sexual act, seeing me as a _faggot._ My parents...I was their son, and yet I’d really done this thing. Everytime I thought of that I would begin to sob anew.

 I was obsessively checking my social media, waiting for the tags and rumours to mount. I hardly ate dinner, my parents were, unusually, both home that night and so I felt bad about that too, but told them I felt sick and went to bed. I curled up in the sheets and cried, and yet...when I thought about him, about actually doing it, I wasn’t really horrified. In the middle of my misery, I got hard - high school may be the most confusing time of anyone’s life and this is why. I couldn’t imagine explaining this to the people who’d raised me, who knew me as some pure, innocent kid, and now I was…I wasn’t in a great headspace, after all ,my parents had been awesome when I came out to them - and they were hardly puritans, dad had told me at the start of junior year that if beers in the basement fridge went missing he’d be counting… but was okay with a few.

 I slept fitfully, if at all, and my mother confirmed I looked like shit in the morning with her hesitant distance (she worked at a hospital, after all). I didn’t have a fever, but looked awful.

“Do you feel up for school?” _Fuck no, never._

I just looked at her with weary eyes and shook my head.

“Stay home, get some rest.” Her eyes were worried, but I didn’t feel up to saying anything. She didn’t bother with my temperature. I tried to sleep, didn’t much, and felt worse.

Around the middle of the day I got a little angry, that he got off (literally) without anything and I was going to have to deal with all this, I was already. Nothing was showing up in my messages, but I saw a snap from Jenny.

 

Jennyredx: _You okay? Missed you in Stats._

EmPheror: _You haven’t heard?_

She responded quickly.

Jennyredx: _What_?

EmPheror: _The rumors..._

Jennyredx _: No...no one I know of has said anything...you okay?_

EmPheror: _Not really._

Right then I got a new connection on Snap, from JaySon123.

 _Here it is. He’s spreading to the whole school. And his handle sucks._ I accepted like a dead man opening a vial of cyanide.

JaySon123: _See you at 4 same place._

EmPheror: _No._

JaySon123: _Do it._

 

I didn’t reply. What the hell did he want? I stared at the clock and considered my options…maybe he hadn’t spread rumors? Not a Fleetwood Mac fan perhaps… but then what did he want? I curled into my sheets and closed my eyes, his image in my head. My heart beat a little, thinking again of the actual act, the sex, his cock...his eyes… but this was all stuff I shouldn’t be thinking of.  It was painfully confusing, and nothing made sense -  all the scripts and normal things I’d been told were useless here.

It was 1:30. I was drained of every emotion by that point. I put on Carissa’s Wierd, and if you don’t know who that is go listen to it - you’ll understand. And I just lay there and considered the strange creature that had wandered into my life and destroyed it in a simple ejaculation following an angry outburst. He’d never been so mean before, and even yesterday his meanness had been partial, messy. He’d always seemed more reserved, just kind of cool. He’d been that way yesterday too.

Four o’clock was close, and so I dragged my tired sweaty ass out of bed, mostly out of morbid curiosity of what this horrible monster would bring. He was a train and I might as well lay on the track. With any luck it would be a group of guys keen to beat the fag to death - that would deflect from what I’d done.

  Jeans, a too small Sailor Moon tee shirt, whatever the fuck I just pulled it on.

 The basement level had been redone a little after my sister left home, there was now full den outside my room and then I had a little suite with its own bathroom and bedroom connected to that. Both my room and the downstairs den had one wall of sliding glass doors that looked onto the back yard, and in this weather it looked verdant and irritating. I stepped out onto a couple feet of concrete that upheld the deck above, two wooden outdoor chairs and some potted plants to either side. It was warm, buggy and muggy, the thickness of the air oppressively clinging to each strand of hair and pulling the sweat from it. I just looked at the wooden fence, it was paneled but the kind that didn’t really let you see through, so I had no idea what was beyond, and really didn’t want to. _Who the fuck cares?_ I moved on limbs dense with the atmosphere of overripened decay that pervades the declining summer.

 He was there, leaning on that same tree, long blue basketball shorts and a compression tee that gave the lie to his lean strength.

“You live here, huh?” He said in a forcedly disinterested voice. Something angry and bitter in me rose up from a corner where it had been crouching and bared its teeth.

“Actually, I’m homeless, suck your dick for dollar?”

He smirked, but just looked at me, _really_ looked at me, for what felt like a long time.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

If ever I hated that man I did then. All the ignorance of the pain his little encounter had caused… and fuck him for looking so cool. _It’s your world and we’re just passing through._

“What do you want?” I was clear this time in my tone: a pronounced lack of shit-giving.

He shifted off the tree, he seemed a little nervous, those blue eyes averted constantly, not like the previous day.

“Listen, yesterday, you were into it? Right? So there’s no…

I rolled my eyes. “Is that what you told everyone? _Emmanuel_ was totally into sucking me off?” Did I mention I struggled against my name? It was not a masculine name, I felt.

He looked confused, “tell– why would I tell anyone I let a guy blow me?” his voice was incredulous, and I saw how that might look bad for him, but I didn’t buy it.

“Because that’s what people do.”

His eyes softened a bit then, “oh, those rumours, sure - no I didn’t...post or say anything.” He paused, then shifted tone, “Anyway, you really got into it...so–”  

“You _punched_ me.”

“Yeah I’m...ah, sorry. You pissed me off, but the other thing you were into, I could tell.” _did he just apologize?_  … “right?”

“You literally shoved your _dick_ in my _face_ ” I just stared daggers. He shifted again, one hand on his shorts’ pocket.

“Yeah well, you liked it…you said it’s what you like. You were into it” _what the fuck does that mean? WHY DOES HE KEEP SAYING THAT?!_

“Why do you keep asking that?! What- do you want? _Active_ fucking _consent_?!” And then it hit me, and all my self loathing and wretchedness drained in an instant as I realized _he was worried_! I remembered his split second of wavering the previous day, recalled the echo of fear in gaze. I smiled, power does perverse things to me - I think in that moment I was angry, but it felt like something else.

“Where’s your phone? You recording?”

He looked away, annoyed...then looking back at me he sighed and pulled out his phone, leaning his head to one side. “Show me”

“Look, I don’t have to show you anything.”

I spoke extra loud, “Oh no? But I was _wrapped_...is that how you say it?”

He was recording.

“Turn your phone off” He mulled this over for a second, then turned it totally off as I watched. This may have been the first and last time he did something I told him, and I can’t say what I looked like but I probably had some smile. The seas of shit  I’d wallowed in momentarily dried up. And so we stared at each other for full minute, not like a movie minute but a real life sixty seconds of tense angry staring. I was angry, his lips were a thin determined line, but his eyes were worried. Then he closed them, and leaned in real close, bracing himself with his hand on the fence behind me, and I shrunk back from his physical presence. _Maybe I made a mistake..._

Then he repeated “You...were...into it.” His tone sounded less firm, the worry behind his eyes creeping into his voice. For the second time I realized he had no real power over me, the only power he could have is what I gave him, _now_ , and for the second time I did something completely bizarre,  something that I _do not_ have the courage to do. It was only by virtue of this tall, handsome boy towering over me that some insanity pushed me to my knees. Literally, I went down on my knees, never wavering from his gaze I reached out and put my fingers in the waistband of his basketball shorts. His eyes flashed wide with shock and he let out a little noise, but then slowly those eyes narrowed as that handsome smirk came over him. _Authority is given, not taken._

“Fuck yeah, I knew it” _no you didn’t._ I let my lips curl to just slightest perceptible smile, that psychotic break filling me with an alien confidence. My heart was pumping and my chest was tight and filled with a burning, pore-prickling  anxiousness, but the moist heat of his skin and the coarseness of his pubic hair on the back of my fingers, trapped in his elastic, was too compelling. I started to pull down but he said, “No.”

Fuck, I’d miscalculated. No, I’d _never_ calculated _at all_ because I hadn’t been thinking. I only then realized I really wanted to blow him again, to smell his body, to feel that soft skin grow taught in my mouth, to hear him moan in the pleasure I was giving him.

_Of course, he doesn’t want you to–_

“I need...” a smile came over his lips with just a flash of his teeth, “ _active_ consent.” He stared down at me with a smug triumph in his eyes. At once I was thinking _what?!_ And, _Why am I so turned on by him?_ I was slow to figure it out, but something about him standing over me, looking down...my cock was fighting an unwinnable battle with my jeans. “Ask nicely.”

 

***

 

Jason lay on the sofa, holding his book up in the light from the sliding glass doors, reading his novel for English. I was supposed to be doing statistics problems, but when he’d laid back on the sofa his shirt had hiked up around his waist. I kept looking at that sliver of exposed skin and thinking about that time, wondering vaguely how he’d known what would turn me on, when he hardly knew me. I’d just been thinking about it for some reason.

“What?” He didn’t look up from his book, but knew I was looking.

“I was just thinking how you knew…”

Now he diverted his eyes to look at me as if to say _knew what?_ “Knew what’d...that...I’d be into...it, when I met you...” ... _met, yeah._

 His eyes were back on the novel. “That’s an ambiguous reference, as you love to write on my essays. ‘It’ what? You’re into a lot of perverted shit” he said this with a smile; so was he, after all.

 Still I blushed like a tomato at his words, and that he made me say it aloud…but I was suddenly really curious, so I asked “being...controlling…” that really wasn’t it, but he let me get away with that.

 He finally lowered the book down to rest on his stomach, and I knew him well enough now I  could tell when he was thinking and just watched him. “I didn’t” was his proclamation. Then he raised the book again, “I just, kind of felt...that first - or was it the second? Yeah, second time, I just wanted to mess with you when I saw you on your knees. I’d never really done that before but... controlling you” he looked at me, “turned me on”  his eyes were intense, and I could tell he was probably  getting hard. I couldn’t look away until he did - and he just held me there, dangling in his gaze, for the longest time. I never knew I could be so turned on by someone looking at me.

But there were a lot things I didn’t know.

 

***

 

“Ask” he repeated.

There was no way, of course. I’d spent the whole day wallowing in paralyzing  shame that I’d actually put another guy’s dick _in my mouth_ , and somehow I was on my knees and now he wanted me to _ask?!_ Nicely?! I wasn’t going to just fucking ask him to- 

“Can I suck your cock?” I sounded perfectly at ease.   _WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SAY?!!!!_ I was split, part of me was slamming into brain walls trying to get out of this horrible situation. But there was this other part of me, incredibly horny but calm, that clearly knew it wanted that dick and that his making me ask, humiliating me, was just the cherry on top.

“What’s my name?”

_This isn’t Fifty Shades and you are NOT a billionaire mothefucker!_

“Jason, can I suck your cock?” _You sound so stupid! Who is saying these things?!_ It’s so strange to be burning with energy, trembling in fear within and somehow being as collected as I’d ever been on the outside. But that part of me - it wasn’t just his dick which was so alluring, as embarrassed as I was, I also _liked_ being there on my knees in front of him. I didn’t understand this then, not really, but felt it - wanted it.

Jason smirked, sneaky handsome as it brought out his powerful eyes, whatever clever power I had I relinquished to him then. All this had transpired within a few seconds, and the feel of his waistband was taught on my fingers. My behavior here doesn’t really make sense to me, considering how wretched I’d felt since his cock last left my lips, but there was something about _our dynamic_ \- how I felt when I was with him that drew my eager desirous side out of me.

Later in college I’d study queer theory, and they have this idea of _interpellation_ , the idea that our very identity or self is in part created in being called out by another. Other people struggled with the idea but I got it immediately, because Jason was doing just that. His calm demeaning control was calling out an eager submissive boy that had once been but a kernel and one of which I was deeply ashamed. I was too, calling out his calm,powerful sexuality. _Mutual Interpellation..._

He nodded his head and I pulled down on his shorts, letting them slide down to his ankles.  I didn’t need to make him hard that day - I guessed he was turned on by humiliating me because his fat cock was raging hard, it was heavy and hung down from his curly black bush of hair. His hair spread out from his crotch in a light spray over his thighs, and the sight of him hard and half-naked was intensely hot to me.

I dipped my head, wetting my lips I let its weight rest on them as ran my tongue along the length of the shaft, turning my neck to kiss the engorged head. I was eager and excited in new ways, knowing the sensations I looked forward to and feeling confident I could do better. As I slipped my lips around the pulsating warmth of his glans I was drawn to his eyes, his calm stare devoid of obvious emotion.

“You want it, don’t you faggot?” I’d been called that plenty, but the word hit me in a different place that day. Of course it was demeaning, even dehumanizing, but the way he said it also was kind of...affirming? It was demeaning but it wasn’t filled with disgust, it’s hard to explain, but I wasn’t hurt when he said it then, I was excited. I reached out to grip his shaft and placed my left hand on his thigh, and he didn’t flinch at the touch of a creature of specie. I don’t what came over but looking in his eyes then I licked up the length of his cock and said “yeah, I want it”.

 He smiled slightly, his hand pressed the back of my head back down and to my task. I spent more time playing with the head, knowing it to be sensative, I pressed my lips over it tasting a kind of soapy musk, I twirled my tongue all around it, then took more into my mouth as I curled my tongue along the bottom. Its redolence filled my senses and soon my mouth was full, I breathed in his scent and knew I loved the smell, gently musky and warm. I could only fit so much in my mouth (we’d later measure and find he was right around 8 inches long) when I felt his hand press against the back of my head and his cock pushed at the back of my throat. I hadn’t expected this and found myself gagging, my core muscles retracting as my body tried to push back, and he relinquished.

He looked down on me, smiling paternally “we’ll have to work on that.”

Despite gagging I didn’t stop, but continued to suck and bob my head, I managed to avoid touching my teeth entirely. I placed both of my hands on his thighs, loveing the feel of his muscles and taut flesh, I then pressed me self further. It pushed at the back of my throat, and I tried to relax and swallow, I realized I wanted to suck it all. He made a little noise, I gagged again and pulled back, to the head and gently ministered to it.

“Fuck” I heard. I looked up again as he grabbed my head and started to pump into my mouth, thrusting his hips like he was fucking. _Fucking my face._ I could do little but cover my teeth and try to guide his cock with my tongue, and despite some discomfort his intense look and hazy eyes, the force of his thrusts, all made my cock very angry at the tight jeans I wore.

“You want my cum?” His voice betrayed the nearness of his climax. I just moaned around his cock. _Who is this person?_ My moan set him off, he threw his head back and held mine on his cock as it began to throb and then again I tasted his cum. I distracted myself from the taste by thinking about how hot he looked as he came, how much I wanted to see that again, and again. I swallowed without command, squeezing and sucking with gently firmness to caress the spurts of cum into my mouth. It felt like he came forever, but slowly the flow subsided and I just continued to gently minister to his softening shaft. He looked down at me then, holding my head still, his eyes didn’t show the revulsion I though they should, but rather they were appraising.

Our eyes were still locked when he leaned back against the tree, his shrinking shaft slipping from my lips, and with its weight gone my head dropped and my throat tightened. He pulled up his shorts as I slumped down in a unexpected wave of embarrassment, I listened to his breathing, suddenly aware again of the oppressive heat and little biting insects that swirled in the air.

Breathlessly, he said in an offhand tone “you’re...that was amazing.” _What does that mean? I’m just a faggot._  I just sat in disturbed silence, the dirt beneath my knees felt more profound than anything I’d ever be. _I wish I could control these emotions._ But the oppressive self-disgust set in, and I hadn’t even come.

“You get hard just sucking cock” he said in a matter of fact tone. I still didn’t say anything, but there was no denying my straining erection, I just looked away at the fence and the gap there between the tree, waiting for the press to come document my perversity. He sighed, “You look miserable.”

I admit I was a bit schizoid back then, but I’d only had sex for the first time the previous day - and I still felt shame for what I’d done, and so I looked at him with some bitterness. “Yeah...well” my voice caught, and I pushed back against the urge to cry, “you’re not a faggot.” _God I sound pathetic._

He kind of smiled, uncomfortably I think, and I felt so stupid for being like I was. “You know that poster outside the guidance office, ‘Know what you love and do it well?’...”

Pathetic me rolled over, there was bitter me waiting “oh good! I’ll put it on my college resumé, “Excellence in Faggotry!’” he actually laughed at that. I liked his laugh.

He was leaning back, looking up at the branches and still catching his breath “you suck cock really good.”

“Really _well_. Only an adverb can modify a verb” I don’t know why I said that.

He just smirked, “You suck cock _very well_ indeed.” _Oh whatever._

 He leaned up off the tree trunk and took a step so that he stood right over me, but I wouldn’t look up.

“Have...have you never done this before?” There was a note of genuine surprise in his voice that made me angry.

“ _No!_ ” I was a bit too loud and I sensed him look around, but I was beyond caring “I’ve never done  _anything_ _like_ this. What do you think I am?” his look of surprise quickly washed away.

“It’s just...you’re really good. Like, neither of the two girlfriends who I got to do oral were into it at all, and didn’t do it well. You were amazing...at it” he added that last bit awkwardly.

Somehow his words penetrated my gloom, I blushed still and felt embarrassed, but I took a little sliver of slutty pride in the fact that I was good at it. _Amazing._

His handsome smirk showed up, making my heart beat faster, “Be a good fag and stop being so fucking miserable - you’re killing my mood” he walked away past the gap at the fence, then stopped at the gate and turned to press the latch and pull it open, “nice. Where’s your room?”

 _What?_ Suddenly I was nervous - did I mention I was schizoid? - _why are you asking?_ But I told him “it’s on the bottom, the basement den and bedroom are where...I...am” the English language was suddenly fighting me.

He looked over at me as he closed the gate, “looks pretty sweet. Next time we can meet there. It’s hot doing it out in the open, but it’s too hot out here. And I think a mosquito bit my ass” I couldn’t help but laugh, and his eyes softened. “See you at school tomorrow.” _As in, don’t wallow and skip out again, dumbass._

He was gone. All those emotions were still swirling around in me, fighting currents in an unstable sea. I stood and leaned back against the tree where he’d been, and in my head I saw him, standing over me, naked and erect - I was still hard. I blushed and pulled my own cock out, and started to jerk off, excited by being outside and by the words I kept playing over in my head. It didn’t take me long to finish, imagining him call me a faggot in a way that was demeaning but not destructive, how he _held_ my head and looked at me. I came so hard the ridge between my cock and ass throbbed painfully as it sent my semen rocketing into the dirt.

I sat there, looking at my dick, breathing. I was embarrassed again, but...I kind of smiled to myself. _Maybe I’m a pervert, but he’s he seems..._ what were his words?... _into it._

What had he pulled out of me?

 

**End Part. 1**

 

 


End file.
